


The Brown Ascension

by Regret_Pile



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Biology, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Probes, Diarrhea, Eventual Smut, F/F, Farting, More plot than is necessary, No scat play, Not Much Osgood early on, Scat, Weird detour into drama, messing, seriously ridiculous amounts of poop come out of characters OK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regret_Pile/pseuds/Regret_Pile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clara's stomach hadn't been right since the Haight-Ashbury"</p>
<p>Clara's picked something up on her travels.  The TARDIS takes her and Twelve to a planet with answers...and intrigue.</p>
<p>This started out as a pretty simple fetish premise (alien intestinal bug) and somewhere along the line a very odd plot developed in my head.  Not exactly sure where the ride is going, but this is probably the strangest fic I'll write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for being American. The dialogue is going to ring false, at least a little.
> 
> The E rating is because I do have plans for a little bit of femslash at some point.
> 
> Also, can I just say it feels super weird to post this in the wake of 'Face the Raven?'

Clara's stomach hadn't been right since the Haight-Ashbury. She'd be running to the toilet every thirty minutes, or she wouldn't go for four days and pass something as wide around as an aluminum can, or she'd just have an endless supply, like she, too, was bigger on the inside. The one constant was the wind. Bloating, reeking, thunderous wind. The Doctor wasn't even saying anything tactless about it, which she took as a bad sign. He must really be concerned.

There was no rhyme or reason to it. She could eat vindaloo and lager, or crackers and juice, or that loaf that every 22nd century research station seemed to stock, and the result would be some random fecal disaster decided, it seemed, by the rules of embarrassment.

The TARDIS had brought them someplace that, hopefully, would provide some relief. That is, of course, if Clara ever made it out of the toilet.

Another wet fart and wave of liquid shit forced their way out of her. All that Time Lord technology and they still couldn't invent a toilet bowl that didn't echo. The smell still surprised her, after all this time with...whatever this was.  She was too uncomfortable even to make some progress on the hexadecimal sudoku she'd picked up in 2357. This was exponential, a bowel movement multiplied by itself, over and over.

Thanks for that analogy, Danny.

The last fountain of diarrhea subsided. She flushed, and felt a soft spray of lukewarm water against her arsehole. She was so glad that Time Lords used bidets. Otherwise her poor hole would be raw beyond belief.  As opposed to just raw as hell, like it was now.

She tossed her ruined underpants in the trash chute and pulled up some spares. She'd destroy those too, she was sure.

The worst part is, she didn't even feel better after all of that. The cramps were as strong as ever, and she still felt full of god knows what.

The Doctor was right outside the door.

"Don't tell me you were listening in."

"It's not that interesting. Now, 3215 was a year that many of the great minds in xenogastroenterology were practicing, and..."

"I know about the convention. What should I do, just visit the ladies' room and let some genius overhear me?"

"It's actually the size J humanoids' room, here."

"Yes, well, I'll be intimately acquainted with it, I'm sure."

"It's a very nice room. Gastroenterologists make lovely toilets."

They stepped out of the TARDIS into a room that certainly looked convention-y. However, instead of medical professionals of all species, there were a number of aliens drinking some sort of liquid quietly, going over data-pads, and generally acting like they were all business-casual. They were purplish, and had second elbows. Most of them were dressed in clothing that kept their midsections bare, and all of those midections looked just slightly distended, as though these beings were currently digesting large meals.

"Heard of them?" asked Clara.

"Well, there are a lot of planets."

Clara groaned, and her stomach answered in kind. Another cramp hit, and she could feel things moving.

"I believe it's customary to introduce yourself when you enter a strange room," said the Doctor, "Or run. The running is actually fairly common."

Sure, why not? _My name's Clara Oswald, and I haven't had a normal shit in three months, can you help me please?_

One of the aliens, a woman, sat at a table, gestured at the two of them. They pulled up chairs.

"You're human."  She pointed to the Doctor "You're not."

"And you?" asked Clara.  An angry gurgle sounded from her abdomen.  It felt like just wind.  Hopefully just wind.

"This is Kenatirus.  I am Alua.  You're the first human we've gotten."  Alua then primly leaned to the side and let out a long, low, fart.

The Doctor gave Clara a 'don't ask me' look.  About Kenatirus or about the fart, she didn't know.

"But you know of us?"

Alua farted again, this one briefer but fouler. "Yes.  Shakespeare, Sun Tzu, Salieri."

"Salieri?"

"Your greatest composer, yes."  A third fart.  Machine-gun sounding and still ranker.

Clara decided she might as well let off some of her own wind.  When in Rome, after all.  It was a bubbler, just a little oily on the way out.  There would be a small skidmark by the end of the day, but nothing unwashable.

"If I may step in?" asked the Doctor.

"What, do you have to let one go too?" said Clara.

"The TARDIS goes off course because it knows what it's doing.  The Kenatirans know of Earth, but haven't been there."  He held out the psychic paper to Alua.  "Can you tell me who I am, Alua?"

"Of course, Mr. President.  It is an honor to be visited by you and your assistant."

"Assistant!?" exclaimed Clara.

"Well, feel honored if you like," said the Doctor.

Clara farted again, wetter than the last.  Upgrade that skidmark to a large one.

Alua sniffed.

"Sorry, yeah, that's pretty bad," said Clara, blushing.

"Don't worry.  It isn't offensive to me.  But it's not alien.  It should be alien."  Alua looked puzzled.

The doctor said something. Something glib, Clara was sure, but she wasn't listening anymore.  Her gut had twisted itself up and something wanted out now.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm going to do something horrible and you may want to get a bucket very quickly."

Then she stood up, yanked down her jeans, and let loose.  A gusher of liquid shit splattered onto the floor, followed by a seemingly interminable fart, followed by another wave of diarrhea.  It wasn't even piling up, just forming a puddle.  She was standing in it.  Clara was glad she'd worn her Doc Martens rather than something girly and permeable.

The Doctor turned to Alua.  "We do this all the time on Earth."

Alua was sniffing again.  Clara did not believe this wasn't offensive to her.

Another wet fart, more splattering shit.  This was not letting up.  And it stung.  A small crowd was gathering.  Bloody wonderful.

Alua typed something into her datapad.   _Dear Kenatiran muckety-mucks, humans are disgusting, please destroy earth_ , no doubt.  Clara groaned.  A final dribbling of diarrhea escaped her anus.  She was still cramping and clenching.  Arsehole dry-heaves.  Wonderful.

"Does, er, does anybody have something to wipe with?" asked Clara.

Alua pulled a tissue-like object out of the bag she was carrying.  Clara wiped and, god that was soothing.  Whatever was on that was like love for your arsehole.  Clara immediately regretted her mental phrasing, there.

"Just, er, give it to me.  For science," said Alua.  She put it in what looked not unlike a ziploc bag. "Now, I'd imagine you'd like to see a doctor?"

"Yeah, for a while now."

"Good. If you would accompany us, Mr. President?  It may well be that we are seeing history in the making."


	2. Chapter 2

The hospital gown was about the same as on earth. Clara supposed that there were only so many possible designs for such a thing.

Alua had disappeared somewhere, and whoever was going to examine Clara was late.

Clara sighed. "Still no idea where we are, Doctor?"

"I'm only a little over two thousand years old, Clara, I don't know everything."

There came a voice from the other side of the curtain. "Are you decent?"

"Well, she's got all of her parts covered up, more or less," said the Doctor.

Another Kenatiran in what certainly looked medical walked in. She had a cart with a jar of some gel and what looked, politely speaking, like a seven-inch cucumber. Clara burst out laughing.

"I'm Doctor Pitru. Sorry for the wait." she arched an eyebrow, "May I ask what's so funny?"

"Well, I mean, that's a bloody dildo."

"It is a piece of sensitive medical equipment, Miss Oswald." Doctor Pitru punctuated this with a rumbling, potent fart.

At this point, the Doctor jumped to his feet. "Probes, farting, uncovered bellies...I know who the Kenatirans are!"

"Do tell," said Clara, "And trust me, I'm not going to let you live down that a dildo gave you a brainwave."

"The race that would eventually become the Kenatirans had only animal intelligence, until a few of them contracted what was then an intestinal parasite. This parasite secreted proteins into the proto-Kenatirans' bloodstreams granting them full sapience, and eventually a wonderful symbiotic relationship began. A peaceful, uplifted species with the most hyperactive bowels this side of the Crab nebula. I formally greet you in my capacity as President of Earth."

"Charmed, Mr. President," said Pitru, "Now, would you please give Miss Oswald a bit of privacy?"

"You don't have to ask me twice." He stepped outside the curtain.

"Now, my dear, we've examined what little of your stool we could procure. In addition to your symptoms, have you noticed any other changes in your body or in your cognition? Increased hand-eye coordination, increased ability at maths, superior lateral thinking, fondness for small birds?" 

The Doctor's voice came from the other side of the curtain.  "She's better than me at hexadecimal Sudoku, and she spent all last week ranting to me about the _Critique of Pure Reason._   I've _met_ Immanuel Kant and I haven't got his work nearly that figured out."

"Go wait in the waiting room!" shouted Clara, "You don't need to hear me getting probed."

"No, I really don't."

Dr. Pitru made a thoughtful face.  "You've definitely had a symbiont colonize your body.  What this probing will do is determine, who, exactly, is in you."

"So, you're saying I've got worms."

"First, it's singular, and second, that's incredibly racist."  Doctor Pitru spread some of the gel across the length of the probe.

"Well, to be fair, the anal probing sort of lives up to a stereotype we humans have of aliens."

Doctor Pitru lifted up Clara's gown.  "This will not be an unpleasant sensation."  She spread Clara's cheeks and began to apply some of the, well, it was a bit facetious not to call it lube, to Clara's arsehole.  It felt...good.  Really good.  Clara could feel the muscles in her ring slackening.

"Well, put it in, then," said Clara.  "I've taken it up the arse before, so I know what I'm in for."

She did not know what she was in for.  Her anus received the probe with hardly any strain.  As it first entered her, she let out an involuntary moan.   This was nice.  The length of it slid in slowly and, god, that lube was magic.  The walls of her anus tingled with pleasure as they slowly parted for it.  Then she felt her hole close over it, and for a few seconds it was like the pressure of an oncoming shit.   She then felt something she had no frame of reference for.  That must be the probe passing up through her rectum.  She felt her stomach swim, but in reverse.

"This should only take a few minutes," said Doctor Pitru.

"Er, how do I get it back out?"

"Oh, you won't have to wait much."

Sure enough, with in about three minutes, she felt something rushing through her gut.  She pushed, and felt the probe crown.  It slid out as pleasantly as it went in, like a satisfying shit and the start of a good finger-fuck all at once.  They could sell gallons of that lube back on earth.  Pitru picked it up in a gloved hand.  It was positively caked in shit.  She plugged it, shit and all, into a computer display to the side of the bed.

It was then that Clara let out what would have been the biggest fart of her life, had she not gotten this symbiont inside her.  It may have still been in the top ten.  It was a good quarter-minute long, wet and sloppy between the lube and her dilated arsehole.  A few flecks of shit landed on the bedcover.

"The probe may have shaken some things loose," said Doctor Pitru, and procured a bedpan.

Clara placed it under her just in time as another sloppy fart left a dusting of yellowish brown on the cold metal.  "You know, I'm sort of appalled that I've got more in me."

Pitru looked at the screen.  "I must call the President in immediately."

"Yours or ours?  Also, can it wait until all this is done?"  Another booming wet fart emphasized Clara's point.

"This may be done very soon, or you may be doing it infrequently over the course of the day."

"Oh, that's bloody wonderful, that is."

And this was how both the Doctor and the Kenatiran head of state--an older man, short and stocky--ended up at Clara Oswald's bedside as she sat over a shit-spattered metal bowl, farting like a horse.

"Executor Vettim, Mr. President, we have found one half of one of the greatest leaders Kenatirus has ever had." said Doctor Pitru.  "The symbiont of Arch-legislator Kytrion, long thought missing, has somehow found its way into the system of this Clara Oswald human."

Clara shyly waved hello, and farted again.  This time, as far as she could tell, it was dry.  Hopefully they'd stay that way.

"So can we give it a new home?  In a baby Kenatiran?" asked Vettim.

"That, I fear, would cause massive internal bleeding.  No.  We must assist in the bonding of the symbiont to Miss Oswald.  I believe a simple nutrient syrup containing many of the compounds in Kenatiran breast milk will suffice."

"Will, er, a proper bonding help with, well, things like what happened back there?" asked Clara.

"Yes.  Neither urgency nor pain will be much of an issue.  Although, you will produce much more flatus and much more waste than I suspect a human is used to.  On the other hand, as humans are already at a baseline of sapience, you will find yourself becoming considerably above average in intelligence thanks to the symbiont's influence."

"Great, so I'll solve all of physics from my toilet seat."

"You're not strictly human anymore, Clara," said Doctor Pitru, "The symbiont will change you on a fundamental level."

"You mean...like a hybrid," said the Doctor.

"That is," deadpanned Doctor Pitru, "an accurate use of the term."

Clara groaned and sprayed the bedpan once more.

Vettim harrumphed.  He looked like a harrumpher. "So.  Miss Oswald.  We shall escort you to a secure location, whilst we determine the ramifications of your--" he scowled "--bonding for the people of Kenatirus."

Clara wasn't going anywhere for a while.  Another shit-laced fart echoed in the bedpan.  If not for Pitru's lube, no doubt her hole would be on fire right now.

"No.  Er, no, you won't" said the Doctor.  He was waving his hands in that way he did when he was still figuring out how the hell he'd get out of this.

"I'm sorry?" said Vettim.  He looked like he had another harrumph brewing.

"She has, er, ah, diplomatic immunity!  I nominate, and, er, approve her as the Terran ambassador to Kenatirus.  Effective immediately.  As in now."

There came a roughly unison _What?_  from the room.

"Yes, so er, we'll need a flat, and, erm, I suppose a bodyguard, and do you people have great big jets?  Like, really big?"

Clara smiled.  "I've never been a diplomat before."

"Yes, well, Madam Ambassador," said Pitru, "You'd best not move from that bedpan for a while."

Clara's bowels trumpeted their messy assent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to spice up the exposition as much as I could there.


	3. Chapter 3

Clara had been cooped up in her assigned flat for three days now. There were two rooms: a shower stall, and a room that served as kitchen, bedroom, and living room. The toilet, naturally, was in the corner of the room that was not the shower stall. It had a bowl about twice the size of most on earth, which was ominous. Clara had tried putting up a curtain, but after the twelfth time it fell down in the middle of the night, decided to give up.

It's not like there was anyone staying with her. The Doctor was sleeping in the TARDIS, as one does.

She hadn't shit for those three days, either. She couldn't blame her poor intestines for taking a break. They'd been through a lot. Still, her belly was especially swollen, and hard when pressed. She'd been passing farts that smelled of all the blocked-up shit in there.

A knock came on the door. At least if it were more medical tests she might get some more of that lube on her arse.

It was, in fact, the Doctor, with a positive Valkyrie of a Kenatiran beside him, who held a small metal crate. She was a deep, deep purple, with a long braid down her back, about six feet tall, and curvy. Her belly had some fat on it to complement the Kenatiran bloat, and her bust, thighs, and backside were full and, Clara couldn't help but think, cuddly looking. Which is to say, yes, she had been in a bit of a dry spell, Jane Austen notwithstanding.

The Kenatiran put down the box, "Madam Ambassador, my name's Inotis. I'm busting you out of this joint."

Clara could have thanked her in any number of ways. Instead, she asked "Why are you American?"

"The fuck's an American?"

"She's an American because that's what the TARDIS translator thinks she is." The Doctor shrugged. "Don't ask me."

"Yeah, thanks, Prez.  I'm sure that means something.  Anyhow, I'm going to be your bodyguard.  Like, pretty much all the time."

"Do I need one?"

The Doctor chuckled "Well, no," he said, "I tried to tell them, but apparently Kenatirus has very bad people on it."

"Yeah," said Inotis, "So that's where I come in.  I hit people.  Professionally.  For the government.  It's a living."

"So what's in the box?" asked Clara.

"This...er, this is my fault," said the Doctor.  "I mentioned that you'd sort of ruined most of the knickers you brought..."  Clara had in fact, ruined all of them.  Twice over, in a few cases.  "I'm going to leave now," he said, and promptly did so.

Inotis opened the box, and, oh, those were some sexy underthings in the box.  Lace and thongs and even some leather.  It's like they had raided a sex shop.  "This is the sort of stuff humans wear, huh?"

"I mean, sometimes.  You know, I almost feel guilty knowing what's going to happen to the poor things."  By way of illustration, Clara let out two brief farts, ripe with pre-bowel-movement stink.

Inotis smiled. "Yeah, I feel you there.  Plain, black, plenty of coverage.  That's how I do things.  Can shart all I want in them."  She dropped the box.  "Come on, short stuff.  Let's get you the fuck out of here.  Go shopping or something."

********

Clara bought a small library of books on the Kenatiran government's dime.  She figured some toilet reading would be necessary.  Inotis drew the line at carrying 'Madam Ambassador's' purchases, so Clara had gotten a little rolling cart.  People were staring, because of course they were.

"Hey, I gotta hit the shithouse," said Inotis, "If I've been smelling you right, so do you."  Clara blushed. "Come on, this is part of the Kenatiran experience.  Since you're all human and private and piss, I'll get us the couple's room.  If, you know, you'd be my girlfriend for the duration of the dump I've gotta take."  

Clara didn't even know what to do with any of that.

The couple's room was a wide, cushioned seat, with a pair of holes, and armrests with who-knows-what sort of buttons on them.  Clara took the right side.

No sooner had Inotis sat down that she cut a ripper of a fart, followed by a loud splash.  "Ugh, creators, that's the stuff."  She farted again, with gusto. "Push the blue button, it'll massage your lower back."

"Sorry, what is all this?"

Another fart, followed by three or four plops. "Yeah, ever heard of a bathhouse?  Well this is a shithouse.  Communal defecation.  Kind of a thing here."

Clara bore down.  Nothing.

"Hey, short stuff.  What'd they tell you about this symbiont in your guts, anyway?"

"Arch-Legislator something-or-other?  Pretty important bloke?"

"Kytrion? Yeah, you could say that.  Dude had a thinker-caste symbiont, so everyone was surprised when he decided to pursue political office."  She let out another tremendous fart. "Oh, fuck yes.  Anyway, he was kind of a legend.  Real reformer, real man of the people.  And then he up and abandons the post, shoots himself into deep space, hoping to seek out new life and new civilizations or whatever."

Clara grunted. A tiny rabbit turd landed in the bowl, followed by an audibly forced fart.

"Fuck, kiddo, take it easy.  You'll give yourself hemorrhoids.  So as I was saying, no one on Kenatirus ever heard back from Kytrion after that.  We kind of abandoned interstellar exploration after that.  Which, I mean, we did a hell of a job getting our own planet sustainable rather than trying some dumb-tits colonization agenda, so kudos on that.  Your lower intestine is home to someone who's kind of an icon of what could have been, Oswald.  That's serious piss."

"And what do you think of him?"

"Hold up, I gotta concentrate." For what seemed like quite a while, a long rope of shit crackling out of Inotis' anus was the only sound in the room.  A splash and hearty exhale followed.  "Okay, that was a big one.  I think people focus on the wrong stuff.  Kytrion the tragedy not Kytrion the reformer.  Guy did so much to relax symbiont-caste restrictions.  If not for him, I'd be in the military, no choice.  Not that anything's wrong with that, but, like, I'm not a fuckin' soldier.  Instead, I got to go to college.  Thanks to Kytrion.  Who gives a squirt of piss how the guy died out there, when he did all he did down here."

A dry sputtering fart escaped Clara's arse.

"Not dropping anything there, huh?  Well, no sense straining yourself, let's go."

Clara stood and pulled up her trousers.

"Wait.  Get a load of this.  I'm proud."  Inotis gestured at her bowl.  A long turd coiled twice around the edge of the bowl, with four or five six-inchers, each the width of Clara's wrist, floating inside of the ring it made.

"Is, er, is that what's going to come out of me?"

"More or less.  I mean, my symbiont's warrior-caste.  We're big on volume." She wiped, really digging in deep, and flushed.  "Come on, let's go get drunk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically I figured that 'piss' sort of takes the form of 'shit' in sweary Kenatiran talk, on account of defecation being pretty much demystified. Same with dumb-tits instead of dumbass. Inotis is American so I can write her filthy filthy mouth at all plausibly.
> 
> I'd love to hear feedback from y'all, too! You know, if you're not shy about posting in the weird poo fic. ;p


	4. Chapter 4

At some point as that night was turning into the next morning, Clara bolted awake and dashed to the toilet. The alcohol seemed to have gotten things moving.  A few little pellets fell out of her, followed by another of the truly vicious farts she'd been passing.  She strained and grunted.  Nothing.  She got up and paced, drank some water, sat back down.  A rush (of wind, in this case) and a push and the land was hers.  Her ring stretched, and the head of a very hard, very wide log of shit poked its way out.

And stayed still.

It was at that point her phone rang.  It was a video call from Osgood.  Or both Osgoods.  In other words, it concerned her in her, ugh, official capacity.  So this wasn't a call-back-later scenario.

It was just the Osgood with the scarf.  Of course, the two of them probably switched up sometimes.  "How's the symbiont treating you, Clara?"

"You are about to get a very graphic demonstration,"  Clara bore down, and the turd made its way a couple more inches out of her.  This was going to be a rough one.

"I...er...you're on the toilet right now?" Osgood blushed. "Oh well, I grew up on the weird part of the internet."

"Really?" Another grunt, another bit of progress.

"Yeah.  You're fifteen and browsing paranormal sites trying to learn about this Doctor person, and instead you get some poor lonely bastard who wants to know how he can shag his tulpa."

"I don't want to know."

"No, you really don't.  So, down to business."

Clara held up a finger in a 'wait' gesture.  "I'm afraid you're going to get...ugh...a bit of a show first."  She pushed and grunted, forcing the turd even further.  Her arsehole was burning with the strain.  Another push, and a chunk broke off and fell into the bowl with a splash.  She relaxed, inhaled, and bore down again.  She got a couple more inches out, and then things began moving.  The sliding of her shit accelerated its pace as the softer part of the turd began to make its way out.  It splashed in, and a massive fart followed behind it.  Clara was glad Osgood wasn't there to smell it.

"Bloody hell, that sounded like an ordeal.  Anyhow, if you're going to be Earth's ambassador, you're going to have to account for the Zygons living here, as well.  So, Osgood and I want to open up a channel of communication."

"Does UNIT know?"

"They're not the peace, are they?"

"So...no?"

"Look, Kate's trying to work with you, but this was basically the Doctor being the Doctor.  So, we're running around with our hair on fire, a bit--"

She was interrupted by a long gaseous sputter, followed by the noisy evacuation of semisolid shit.  The cork was out, and the whole world was falling out of Clara's arse, it seemed.

"You sure you're all right? Look, half of UNIT is convinced people won't be able to swallow the poo thing--"

"You want to rethink that phrasing, Osgood?"

"Very much so.  The other half just thinks that since the Kenatiran's don't really do interplanetary travel, that you ought to just...leave."

"And you?"  Another windy fountain of muck.

"We think any time humans are talking to aliens, rather than at one another's throats, it's a good thing.  So, be in touch, yeah?"

"Sure."  

Clara was just about to hang up, when Osgood said, "So, is it like Star Trek?"

"I, er, don't recall ever seeing Mr. Spock unload three days of shit?"

"No, I mean, having a symbiont.  Like with the Trill.  Do you get the old hosts' memories and all that?"

"No, just, er, just good at maths and language.  And riddles.  What episode was the Trill in, anyway?"

Osgood shook her head. "The Trill are...Alright, you get back to Earth and I'm going to show you some really good television."

Clara let loose another massive barrage of plops and wet farts.   With a symbiont, three days' worth was a lot of shit, it seemed.  "Osgood, I am so sorry."

"I've heard worse in the ladies' back at UNIT.  We've pretty much all got horror stories about picking up something tropical or alien or both.  Just let it go."

Clara did.  Her gut was in knots, and her arsehole was raw, and the mushy shit just kept spewing out of her.

"Look, Clara.  You can do a lot of good here.  Osgood and I are rooting for you.  Drink plenty of fluids."

With that, Osgood hung up.  Clara wondered just how many people would see her shitting out her guts, when this was all said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this happens after The Zygon Inversion.
> 
> Osgood's fun. I don't have to try writing someone who's not hugely nerdy. Her aside about the weird parts of the internet has some to do with her nonchalant 'whoa' with the gag about the Doctor's browser history. We'll be seeing more of her.
> 
> And yes, that was a Smiths reference there.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara plopped herself at a pub table with the Doctor and Inotis. The doctor was drinking straight tonic water (apparently a galactic constant), Inotis had already downed two shots, and Clara was drinking something called a Thirsty Ear. It was pungent and very strong. It had been a long day.

"I don't understand," said Clara, "why UNIT's dragging its heels on reverse-engineering Kenatiran sewage treatment. It'll be great for clean water and agriculture. I mean, how hard is it to decide that a species that poos this much would know a thing or two about sewers? I mean, they've heard the noises that come out of my arse!"

"You remember the ATMOS business years ago?" said the Doctor, "That was alien tech. Same with the Adipose Industries fiasco. For a while there it seemed like consumer products from space were trying to kill you people every week or so. UNIT only know what they know, after all."

Clara groaned.

"Yeah, I agree," said the Doctor.

Clara then lifted a buttock and released a truly foul fart, with just a little follow-through. She was certain that what she'd been doing to her array of sexy knickers constituted some sort of statement.

"Good one, shortstuff," said Inotis, "I think you're really becoming one of us."

She wasn't wrong. When Clara was little, she'd always been amused by farts, and would have contests with her cousins, much to the chagrin of mum and dad. There was something liberating about cutting loose in public, not to mention on Very Important Ambassadorial Calls. And now that her digestion had normalized, she'd learned to enjoy the release of a good BM. She had one knocking on her back door right now, in fact. She'd been holding it a while, and, honestly, the strain was getting to be a bit much. As she went to stand up and visit the loo, Inotis tackled her to the ground. A shot rang out, and one of the bottles behind the bar shattered.

In her surprise, Clara had released her sphincter. A long, soft turd was slithering its way into her knickers.

Inotis leapt up, and pulled Clara from the ground. "I see him! Let's chase the sonofabitch down, what do you say?"

"See, I knew there would be running!" said the Doctor, "There's always running."

As they chased the would be-assassin, more mushy shit was escaping Clara's gut. It had broken the confines of her knickers and a large glob had slid down her leg. A loud expulsion of wind bubbled through the mass of shit caking her seat. She took back everything good she said about having this symbiont in her.

That said, the chase felt good. It was like the old days, before endless meetings and security procedures. "You know," she said, "this is the most fun I've had in a while."

"Er," said the Doctor, "That's a bit odd to hear from someone with poo in their trousers."

"It's in my shoe too," she said cheerfully. This was true, With every footfall, her left foot squished in her own excreta. And more was coming. A massive bulge weighed down the seat of her trousers, and a dark spot had spread as far as the back of her knees. She burbled another massive fart through her mess. "This is disgusting, and I don't even care! We're in proper danger again!"

"Fact of life, sister," said Inotis. "Actually, so's the pants-shitting. Had an old girlfriend who actually popped a seam on a bad day. Not, uh, not that we do that on a regular basis. But accidents'll happen."

Danny wasn't even comfortable with Clara so much as acknowledging her body had functions. If he could see her now.

Eventually they caught up with the shooter in an abandoned building. He had apparently left his rifle behind. He lunged at Clara with a knife, but Inotis tackled him and twisted it out of his arm.  Within a minute he was on the ground and cuffed.

"Alright, dickhole.  What is it this time?  She just too adorable to live?" said Inotis.

"She's a danger.  An alien answerable to another alien, usurping the legacy of a supposedly great man for who knows what purposes?"

Clara groaned as still more shit squelched into her overburdened jeans.  A small portion slid out of the right leg onto the floor.  "Believe me, I'd just as soon have the thing out of me.  I go back home and I'll be bloody undateable, not to mention that I'd never hear the end of it from my students."

The assassin spat on her.  "The sad part is that I truly believe that you're ashamed." he turned to Inotis.  "You know as well as I that her planet would turn us into the objects of mockery and pity.  Why not keep Kenatirus for Kenatirans?  If the stolen thing in her gut taught us anything, it is that whatever is on other planets is best kept well away from us."

"Oh, you're one of those, huh?" said Inotis.  She turned to Clara. "People think it was murder.  That the poor bastard was killed by big bad space aliens.  Fucking paranoid bullshit."

"You think we're the fringe?" The assassin smiled. "Some very powerful people agree with me.  Earth is not your friend, you stupid, treasonous cow."

The Doctor inhaled sharply.

Clara turned to Inotis, grinning.  "Watch this."

The Doctor began to speak. "Do you have any idea how absolutely boring you are?  Everywhere I go, there's someone saying this exact sort of thing.  Outsiders are dangerous!  Keep them out!  And that's a boring way to live!  D'you know what?  People that aren't like you are incredibly interesting.  They make you more interesting just because you know about them.  There's a lot of very cruel people in the universe, but setting up a little tree fort with a 'no aliens allowed' sign, and throwing rocks at any poor fool who goes by?  That's one of the most tedious pastimes I can think of.  Sooner or later you think your best mate's ears are a little too pointy, and you shove him out, and then what?  You have no friends, and nothing to do, and a big pile of rocks.  Why would you want that?  Why would you think that was an okay way to be?"  

He paused for breath. "Inotis, take him wherever you take him.  I am tired beyond belief of people that think the way he thinks."

Inotis smiled.  "Damn, prez.  You rant like a champ.  And Clara?"

"Yes?"

"Believe it or not, we can fix those pants.  Another great sanitary technology we can share with our earthling friends."  She punctuated those words with a sharp tug on the failed assassin's elbow.

Clara released one final, massive fart. "I, er, hate to be the ignorant human, but I'm really not sure I'd not rather burn them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come for the pants-shitting, stay for the anti-xenophobia monologuing!


	6. Chapter 6

Clara walked into the flat, kicked her shoes off, and poured a shot of something strong for herself and Inotis.

"Bloody UNIT! Bloody Earth!" She knocked it back and poured another. "I mean, Christ, your people have television!"

"Hey, don't hold it against us." Inotis drank hers, and put the bottle back on the shelf.

"Give that here!"

"I mean, I'm all for day-drinking, but it seems like you're even more frustrated than usual about all this.  Wanna talk?  I mean, in between shots."

"It's not, it's...this is embarrassing."

"Shoot."  Inotis stretched out on Clara's bed.

"Well...er...the symbiont's settled down, but..er..you don't get sore, do you?  I mean, pooing this much?"

"It happens.  Like, how sore we talking?"

"Bad."

"Oh, kiddo.  Come over here.  I can give you a quick massage."

Clara wasn't sure whether to blush or laugh.  "It's, er, not exactly my stomach muscles that hurt."

Inotis barked out a laugh.  "Yeah, I know."

"You're going to massage--"

"Yeah, your asshole.  I'm good, too.  All my college friends swore by these fingers."

Now Clara knew whether to blush.  "I do _not_ know you that well."

"Look, that whole area's pretty demystified here.  Ever got a back rub from a friend?"

Clara could remember some pretty hot back rubs. "I mean, I suppose."

Inotis placed a towel on the bed.  "Lay down if you want it, OK?"

Clara unbuttoned her jeans and slid down the whole apparatus.  Unbidden, a rush of arousal came to her.  She'd found Inotis attractive from the start.  Seems like undressing for a pretty girl was enough.  She lay on her belly, and Inotis spread her cheeks.

"Oh, fuck, no wonder you're sore.  That thing is tiny."

"Sorry?"

"Listen, your anus is, like, abnormally small."

"No one has ever told me that."

Inotis walked in front of Clara, dropped her trousers, and bent over.  Her pucker was at least double the diameter of anything Clara had seen on anyone else.  "This is normal.  What you have is just, I don't know, a mean joke."

Seeing Inotis flash her like that just added to the warmth pooling in Clara's nethers.  This was going to be interesting.

Inotis buttoned up and returned to Clara's side.  She procured a jar of something amber and viscous, then dunked her whole hand in the thing.  "I'm gonna need a lot of oil for your little hole, shortstuff.  By the way, kudos on doing the whole full bush thing.  Looks good on you."

"Are you certain you're not trying to seduce me?"

"Nah.  I'd just say 'let's fuck.'  Besides, you see a lot of crotches in the public toilets.  Unless you were straight-up spreading for me, I wouldn't think much of it."

Clara blushed.  "Well, living with Jane sort of turned into no-shave 1801.  Only took care of my legs because we were off to the era of miniskirts."  She was certain that even if her sex was somehow out of sight, Inotis would be seeing a wet spot on the towel.  One didn't just talk about one's pubic hair to beautiful alien women and stay composed, after all.

And then came the finger.  Inotis prodded slowly at Clara's rosette, not entering.  Whatever oil she was using transferred heat very well.

"So, you and the Prez.  This isn't really your thing, is it?  Sitting on your asses and bickering with dignitaries?"

Clara smiled.  "Not even close.  And he's the Doctor.  The whole president thing was...I don't even know, really.  No, we go all over space.  All over time and space, if you can believe it.  There's monsters and escapes and just the most beautiful places."

"Piss.  I've never left the capital."

"Well, if I ever get loose from here, I'll take you along."

"No you won't.  I'm just the muscle."

As Inotis' finger entered Clara, she gasped.  She'd always liked having her arse played with, and Inotis' touch was remarkably tender.  Rather than thrust in and out, though, Inotis stretched out to the edge, circling her rim.

"You're not just the muscle.  You're who I drink with.  You're who--you actually talk to me like I'm not a curiosity."

Inotis inserted a second finger, and spread those two, vertically, horizontally, diagonally.  Clara groaned involuntarily as her opening stretched.

"Yeah, I guess.  Plus, I can do this."

A third finger.  She kept them closed now, and made circles like before.  Clara started to slide a hand between her legs, quickly yanking it back when she realized what she was doing.  "How, er, how much of your hand is going inside me?"

Inotis slowly opened and closed her fingers.  "All of it, if your little novelty asshole takes it."

"So, just a little platonic fisting, then?"

"Fuck, shortstuff, I'm sorry if things work differently on your planet.  Just keep it under control, okay?"

Finally, Inotis withdrew, and placed more oil on Clara's slackened hole.  And then a cone of her fingers penetrated.  Clara moan-shrieked with pleasure.  She'd had cocks in there before, but the tapering of Inotis' hand was just incredible.  Inotis went in and out gently, a massage as promised, not a fucking.  Clara didn't care.  She held it under control, but she wanted to writhe.

After what seemed like a blissful eternity, Inotis pulled her hand out.

"I'd better shower off," said Clara hastily.

Once she got in the shower, she came in under a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This here's where the E rating comes in. No scat or farts in this one, but, like, so what?


	7. Chapter 7

Clara lay face-up on the bed in the Kenatiran flat--it didn't feel like her bed yet, which, given that she'd grown accustomed to laying her head anywhere and calling it home, was not a good sign. The Kenatiran government still wasn't talking to any Earth civilians. She was doing no good, and she wanted to leave.

The doctor had gone off without her, too. He'd video-called to show her the volcanoes of Turukka. So much for the Doctor and Clara Oswald in the TARDIS. Now it was Clara and her fecal matter in diplomatic gridlock.

There came a knock on the door.

"I'm not wearing trousers!" she shouted.

"Yeah, and I'm not wearing brass knuckles!" It was Inotis. Clara was suddenly conscious of the semitransparent red knickers she had on. She almost wished Inotis would make a big deal of it--she hadn't felt sexy for a while, for obvious reasons.

And Inotis was wearing a skirt that went maybe a third of the way down her thighs, and leather boots that went up nearly to meet it. And what thighs they were, thick and powerful and somehow still soft...and there went the gusset of those underpants.

"OK, shortstuff. We're going adventuring."

"What are you wearing?"

"Well, I figured we'd go get lost in the woods. So the boots keep my legs from getting all scratched up, and the skirt means I don't have to pull anything down when I squat out there. I mean, it's not, like, the Wonder Reefs of Planet Spontanea, but, piss, I do what I can."

"It's just...it's...I like it."

Inotis sighed. "I know you're into me, kiddo. I like you too. But you're the boss, you know?"

"Inotis, I fly around in a blue box with a mad old man. I'm bored being the boss."

"Yeah, but it'll be some kinda fuckin' scandal, believe me. Earthlings come to steal your women!"

"Oh please, they already hate me."

"No.  You'll know when they hate you. Look, you wanna do this? We keep it on the down-low until things are less tense between our planets."

"You mean..."

"Fuck yes. No second sleeping bag on this hike."

So that was it.  Secret lovers.  It was almost exciting.

************

For the past mile, Inotis had been letting loose with rancid, bubbly farts.  Clara would think she'd shat herself a few times over if she didn't know the Kenatiran was going commando.

"Symbiont feeling lively?"

"Dinner at Morit's last night.  They specialize in stuff from the Lozinish Islands.  Which doesn't mean a damn thing to you, I realize."  Inotis made a face and cut a fart that must have lasted ten seconds.  "Lozinish restaurants are great places to meet people, because it's pretty much guaranteed you'll run into them at the local toilets the next morning."

"Well, I'm sure the Lozinish say that about...we're in Pyknia, right?"  Clara cut a squealing fart of her own.

"Don't act like you haven't memorized the planetary council's origins and stories, shortstuff.  I know you're smarter than they think you are."  Another truly grandiose expulsion of wind.

As a matter of fact, the Lozinish councilors did say exactly that, and she'd always see them taking massive, sloppy shits as soon as the sessions let out.

Inotis held up a finger. "Hold up, I've gotta drop a big one."  She squatted and lifted her skirt.  A thick stream of loose greenish shit blasted noisily from her back end.  She moaned.  The moans Inotis made when she shat were nearly enough to turn Clara into a fetishist.

"Alright then.  I am smarter than they think.  You've never been to Earth, but you know of us.  Care to tell me why no one is explaining that?"

Inotis bore down, cut a massive fart, and blew out a second wave of fecal slurry. "It was during the war with the Sontarans.  Our intel hacked their files on you."

Clara's jaw dropped.  "You fought off the Sontarans?  How?"

"A whole lot of dead Kenatirans."

There was no way UNIT would take that knowledge well.

***********

By the time they were to make camp, Inotis had taken three more voluminous, semisolid shits, leaving piles more appropriate for livestock than a woman her size.  And it was Clara's turn.

She dropped her trousers and squatted.  "Watch this."

She farted briefly, and then a dark, smooth turd slid out of her.  She moved her arse in a circle slowly, keeping her sphincter open, not so much pushing as guiding.  The rope of shit exited unbroken.  When it was over, there was a single, hugely long coil of Clara's shit on the ground.  The base of the pile must have been about a foot across.

Inotis slow-clapped. "You've been holding that, haven't you?"

"Yeah.  Wasn't necessarily able to hold it for awhile.  Sort of a personal challenge now."

"So, where'd you learn to do that?"

"You poo outdoors a lot when you're with the Doctor.  Never tried it with, er, so much."

Inotis smiled.  "I remember when you were embarrassed by this sort of thing."

"Still am.  I just like you."

They didn't have sex that night.  They didn't even take their shirts off.  But they held each other, Clara nuzzling into Inotis' shoulder, Inotis' foot rubbing Clara's, their breathing slowly falling into something resembling unison.  God, Inotis was so warm and soft.  Clara supposed that wasn't unique, but still.  She hadn't slept against someone in too long, and Inotis...well, Inotis was honest like no one, and beautiful like too few people.

She was awakened by the sound of her phone.  Osgood.  Probably important.  She picked up.

"Clara, I'm going to tell you this now, because Kate's going to tell you in the morning in front of all the important Kenatirans who don't trust us.  They found a skeleton."

"What?"

"A Kenatiran skeleton.  On the seafloor near the Golden Gate Bridge, in America.  Right near where you first started having, er, symptoms.  They examined the skull and, well, it looks like this person was shot in the head."

Clara's eyes went wide.  "Oh no."


	8. Chapter 8

What came next was a truly grandiose display of obfuscation about why, exactly, Clara and the Doctor had to return to Earth. The final reason had something to do with a sick grandmother who was also a planetary security risk. Inotis was to accompany them on the condition that she report on exactly what was happening. Which suited Clara just fine.

"Creators, it's roomier than my first girlfriend's colon in here. How the fuck do you do it?"

Clara smiled. "Ever hear of Time Lords?"

"No."

The Doctor interjected. "That means it was classified. The Sontarans knew about us. You'd have learned about us around the same time you learned that you weren't alone in the galaxy."

"So, what do we do?" asked Inotis, "Go back in time and save him?"

The Doctor shook his head. "If Kytrion's death wasn't a fixed point in time before, it became one once Clara got the symbiont inside her."

"And I do not want my lower intestine to be the hub of a paradox," said Clara, "God knows _what'll_ come out of me."

"I'd imagine we check in with UNIT and determine when he was killed," said the Doctor. "Then we bumble around and hopefully prevent a major interplanetary incident. All while you two shag and fart and shag more."

"You know?"

"I'm only mostly clueless about these things."

******

Clara farted and stumbled her way through a UNIT debriefing. Her interrogator (as far as she was concerned) was visibly turning green. Poor man.

"I, er, don't suppose--" he was interrupted by another of Clara's thunderous farts. He gagged "I'm sorry, Miss Oswald, but would you mind holding those in?"

"It's not easy."

"Why am I not surprised. Would you and your Kenatiran companion mind providing us with, er, a stool sample?"

"You'll need a big container."

"If you say so, miss."

Clara squatted over what looked for all the world like a massive Tupperware. Presumably the doctors had no idea quite what they were dealing with. A twelve-inch turd slithered out of her, followed by a booming wet fart, followed by a wave of mushy poo. All in all, a quick, small, dump, by her current standards.

Inotis was still going. Turd after turd coiled into the sample container, threatening to overflow it. The mound, when finished, piled at least six inches above the lip of the thing.

"Nice!" said Clara.

"I try."

*******

When all was said and done, and the UNIT doctors had made sufficiently bug-eyed expressions at their shit, Inotis and Clara had to find a place to stay.

Apparently, following an incident with the Ponds, sex in the TARDIS was off the table.  And Clara and Inotis weren't not fucking.

Kate suggested a fairly comfortable bunker, but Osgood stepped in.  Clara suspected she was up to something.

The Osgoods' flat was sufficiently remote that Inotis wouldn't be spotted, was the main argument.  The two of them seemed fairly insistent.  Clara finally acquiesced.

As they were leaving, the Osgood with the question marks pulled her aside.  "We've got a very big bed," she said, "You two should be very comfortable."

Well then.


	9. Chapter 9

No sooner had Clara set her bags down on the Osgoods' floor than a cramp like the bad old days hit her.  She made a mad dash for the toilet, and barely sat down in time to unleash a spew of gassy diarrhea.  Her arsehole was on fire.  This was not normal.  She hadn't had an upset stomach, not properly, since she'd gotten the symbiont properly in sync with her body.

She had not closed the door.

The Osgoods averted their eyes.

Inotis smiled.  "So, the lonely private shits of planet Earth are like this, huh?"

"I'm in a great deal of pain, Inny, so, ugh--" an extended watery fart --"God, that was bad.  Just don't be all...pithy."

The Osgood with the scarf turned in the direction of the toilet.  "You've been off-planet a while, yeah?"

Clara grimaced as more liquid shit blasted out of her.  She flushed, just to be safe, then kept going. "And?"

"Well, some aliens on-planet tend to experience...this...upon eating Earthling food when unaccustomed."

The other Osgood piped up, "The impolite term is 'Harriet Jones's Revenge.'"

"Hold the fuck up," said Inotis, "I thought you Zygons were the only aliens that had shacked up here?"

"Well, that UNIT knows of."

"How have you not lost your jobs?" asked Clara.

"We're the peace," said the Osgoods in unison.

Clara wiped, and flushed.  "So, Inotis is probably also going to get the shits, right?"

The Osgood with the question marks, nodded, blushing hard.

"And we've got one toilet?"

Another nod.

"That settles it," said Clara.  I've got some chamber pots in the TARDIS--"

"Why?" asked Osgood.

"Because...er...nostalgia?  Look, I'll bring in three, and that way even if we all have to shit together, we'll have someplace to go, yeah?"

"Just, all in front of each other?" asked the other Osgood.

"Oh, god, sorry," said Clara, "You must think I'm absolutely disgusting."

"That's, er, that's not it.  We..." said Osgood

"We have a fetish," said the other.

 Inotis burst out laughing.

"You know," said Osgood, "It's not exactly an easy thing to admit."

"No, sorry, it's just...OK, on Kenatirus, in all the old books or movies or whatever, if you want to spot hidden lesbian subtext, you wanna look in the toilet scenes.  So, it's kind of a stereotype that we're always shitting together."

"Toilet scenes are, er, common with your people?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry, it's just--" Osgood was blushing hard. "well, we've watched a lot of rubbish comedies just to get to the good parts.  When we were young."

Inotis' stomach growled fiercely.  "Holy fuck, that hurts," she says.  She lifted a cheek, only to produce a squelching wet noise.  The stink of a new brand of shit added itself to what Clara left in Osgood's toilet.  "Oh, damn."  She said it idly, as though she'd dropped something.

She sighed, and the smell grew as a large bulge formed in her trousers.

"Are you..." Osgood trailed off.

"Yeah.  Already ruined the pants."  She farted thunderously and continued shitting.  "Fuck, I am not okay.  Seriously, I feel like I swallowed knives or something."

"Those would be cramps," said Clara, "generally, when someone without a symbiont shits like a Kenatiran, that person gets them."

"Well they fucking suck!"  A second explosion of gas transformed into more squelching and crackling.  Inotis sighed.  "I think that's the last of it.  Osgood?  I'm'a wash off, okay?"  She skinned down her trousers and set them on the floor.  Brown muck overflowed her underthings to fill the entire seat.  It was smeared, thick and chunky, all across her full buttocks and thighs.  She headed toward the shower, and closed the door behind her.

"Er, Clara?" asked one of the Osgoods.

"Yes?"

"While you get those chamber pots...would you mind taking your time?" said the other.  "Osgood and I need some..."

"...Private time," finished the first Osgood.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The setup was thus.  The Osgoods' chamberpots were on their side of the bed, Inotis and Clara's on theirs.  That way, they'd at least have privacy from the waist down.  Bleach and the 'massage' setting on the shower head cleaned out the pots once they'd been emptied into the toilet.  The Osgoods had gotten in on the fun, so to speak, and were ordering all the foods that didn't agree with them.

Currently one of them was groaning and pushing as a thick, knobbly turd slowly exited her arse, while the other was shitting out pure liquid.  Clara was certain that was a hint as to which was human and which was Zygon.  She herself had stocked up on clean knickers with plenty of coverage, as had Inotis.  Neither could particularly trust their farts.  It smelled like a London street in 1602, thought Clara.

"So UNIT's cut us out of this entirely?" said Inotis.

"Not entirely.  But the scientists are--unf--having a hell of a time figuring out--oh bloody hell--a time of death for this Kenatiran, let alone his identity," said the constipated Osgood.  Her turd finally dropped into the pot.  "Good god, I think I've got a bit more."

"It's Kytrion, no question."  Inotis was firm on this.

"Er, how long can the symbionts survive without a host?" asked the Osgood with diarrhea, as she wiped her arse.

"Fuckin' centuries."

"Well then."

"Any news from the Doctor?" asked the constipated Osgood as she began to push another, blessedly softer turd out.

Clara sighed.  "He's got so bored he's in the 24th century with a bunch of geologists.  We'd be with him if not for Important Diplomatic Duties.  You know, shitting our guts out in a one-bedroom flat."  She farted.  Dry, thank god.

Inotis groaned, skinned down her trousers and sat once again on her pot.  A noisy expulsion of gas preceded several plops.  Semisolid was good, better than what she'd been doing thus far.

"This is what I mean," said Clara, "We're not exactly ready to go outside unless we're particularly close to a public loo.  Even if the Osgoods do have only themselves to blame."

By means of demonstration, the constipated Osgood forced out a percussive fart, then sighed and pulled up her jeans.  She headed to the fridge, pulled a handful of prunes from a little jar, and gobbled them down.

"Hey," said Inotis, "if you both get the runs I'll have no idea which is which."

Clara shook her head.  The Osgoods were no doubt horny beyond belief, and Inotis was having quite the time teasing them (which really ought to have made Clara jealous), but she would give anything just to head out into London with her big purple girlfriend and see what happened.

Inotis let fly another barrage of plops.  "OK, I say the blocked-up one goes and gets booze and we all do something that ends in, like, a fuckin' orgy or an interplanetary incident.  This is ridiculous."

The blocked-up one smiled.  "Any requests?"

Clara wanted any tacky flavored vodka they had.  The Osgood with diarrhea wanted porter.  Inotis just wanted something strong.  "Me," said the constipated Osgood, "I'm having rum, prune juice, and Metamucil."

*******

A few drinks in, and the Osgoods had gotten all cuddly with each other.  Inotis had discovered that Earth beer was absolutely delicious--they didn't have proper wheat on Kenatirus, or something--and that it gave her wind that actually smelled like the abstract concept of suffering.  Clara had her head nestled across Inotis' thighs, and it was nice, and birthday cake vodka was certainly novel, but something was missing.  She belched, which somehow seemed so much more crude than all the farting she'd done thus far during her stay.

"Hey," said Inotis, letting out a wet-sounding fart, "Osgoods."

"Yeah?"

"You're probably so fuckin' sexually frustrated you'd...fuckin'...I don't know, stick a damn broom handle up there."

"You're, er, not wrong."

"So, like, jerk off, huh?  This is like, fuckin', your big fantasy scenario, right?"

"Well..."

"I give you two wonderful women permission to fuckin' pleasure the piss out of yourselves, OK?"

Each Osgood stuck a hand down the other's waistband.

"You're close," said Clara.

"We are--" a sharp inhale--"the peace."

********

When the Osgoods were spent, Inotis turned to the constipated one (who, incidentally, was a screamer), and asked "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"I...suppose."  A forceful stomach-growl was heard, and the formerly constipated Osgood planted herself firmly on one of the chamber pots as a massive explosion of wind and shit forced its way out of her.

"Shortstuff, you can hook your phone up to their TV, right?"

"Yeah?"

"OK, so, I've been telling Clara she has to see this Kenatiran movie 'Shores of Extrui.'  You kids'll like it because it's set in a resort spa, with a seriously luxurious shithouse.  I like it because it's a movie about two women in love that actually doesn't end on a fuckin' miserable note."

The Osgood that wasn't shitting arched an eyebrow.  "You really  _are_ like us."

The movie was sweet.  They had to turn the volume up to hear over Inotis' unholy flatulence (Inotis made sure to point out that the other three kept up pace), though.  When it ended, the four of them were curled against each other, half-asleep and happy.

"You know, the sound crew did a very good job with the toilet scenes," said one of the Osgoods.

"Sound crew?" said Inotis.  "Sound crew?  Piss, kiddo, that was all the actors doing it themselves.  Kanutii really did need the toilet that bad when they shot the scene where they met.  It's called method."

"I _really_ need to get into Kenatiran cinema."

Clara smiled.

Her phone buzzed.

On the projector was a text from the Doctor: PACK BAGS GET TO TARDIS SERIOUS.

Oh, bloody hell.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I genuinely did not have an answer to the mystery of Kytrion's death.
> 
> No porn in this chapter, just plot. Somehow I actually took a turn into Drama Town, thereby making this whole fic EVEN STRANGER in terms of being a thing that exists.
> 
> Seriously, prepare for hella hella mood whiplash.

The TARDIS landed on a seemingly unremarkable San Francisco street.  It was late, and the street was deserted.  The doctor pointed up.

"D'you see that tall building?"

Clara and Inotis nodded.

"There's a man with a rifle in it.  In about fifteen minutes he's going to shoot Kytrion and dump his body in the bay.  He's going to do it because he thinks Kytrion's working for the USSR, and UNIT won't do anything because he represents the United States of America."

"So is Kytrion?" asked Inotis.

"Is he what?"

"Working for the Russians.  I read the history pretty well.  They don't seem like his type.  Dude was all about individual freedoms."

"No.  He's been writing love letters."

"What?" asked Clara.

"Love letters."  The doctor had that cold anger in his voice that he got when humans, specifically humans, disappointed him.  "Bloody love letters.  See, he landed in Moscow.  Had a little fling with a steelworker named Ivan.  Ivan's nobody.  But they wrote in Lozinish, so the Americans didn't know anything besides that a space man was sending letters to a Russkie.  So they had him killed.  No need to try a space man.  Human rights are for humans.  That's how they thought about it."

Inotis' face was blank.  "Fuck," she whispered.

"Go on inside, then," said the Doctor.  "Nobody needs to watch a man take a bullet."

Clara started inside.  Inotis stayed.  "I need to see," she said.  "I just need to, okay?"

The doctor nodded.

*******

Inotis stayed on her own the rest of the day, until sundown.  They slept in the TARDIS.  When she finally crawled into bed with Clara, she held her tight.

"So this is Earth?"

"Sometimes."

"You're no better than we are."

"Yeah."

Inotis buried her head in Clara's chest.  The effect might have been comical, given how much bigger the Kenatiran was than Clara, but nothing felt very funny right now.

"They're not gonna fuck this up, okay?"

"Inotis..."

"They won't do anything to you and they won't do anything to me and we'll be together, okay?  Promise."

"Who are they?"

"Who knows?  My people, your people, Osgood's people, the Doctor's people, anyone.  Now promise."

"I can't."

"I know.  Fucking do it anyway."

Clara kissed Inotis' forehad.  "I promise.  I'm brilliant.  The Doctor's brilliant.  You're pretty brilliant.  We'll keep us safe.  Somehow."

Inotis lifted her head to look in Clara's eyes.  "I'm going to hold you to that."

They didn't sleep for a good while.  Tomorrow, things were going to have to be discussed.  Tomorrow was when both their peoples would have to prove themselves.


End file.
